


Widower

by MintIceTea



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintIceTea/pseuds/MintIceTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were times he felt like a widower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Widower

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all my info on the 12th Doctor comes from fanfiction and second hand information. I have not watched the series since the Ponds have left, and though I love the bits I've seen of Clara, my shipper heart cannot let go of Rose.  
> And I'm sorry, but I've never accepted River as the Doctor's wife,

                There were times he felt like a widower. And maybe he was, not because of River – timey-wimey marriages and heavily encouraged self-delusions don’t really a wife make – but because of _her._

                He rubbed his eyes and did his best to run from those thoughts.

                Clara was smart. She noticed things. (A lot like Rose in that aspect, he would admit to himself. And oh how that _hurt_.) She noticed how he lingered over roses, especially pink ones. How the mention of wolves made him twitch. How some dates managed to escape his excuse ( _In the TARDIS dates don’t really matter_ ) and made both of his hearts ache.

                She’d fret. Clara would. She’d bring him tea and try to distract him. Sometimes it would work he could swallow the memories and ignore the bitter taste they left and just keep moving.

                Other times though. He’d have to avoid Clara (beautiful, bright, clever Clara) and let the sharp shards of memories sting the back of his eyes in a way that felt alarmingly like tears.

                His last body didn’t ache like this. Oh, he missed Rose like nothing else. But that body, both childish and ancient, was so much better at ignoring the bleeding holes that her absence left in him. This body missed her like itchy scabs that he couldn’t help but pick.

                On one planet, a local asks if Clara is his wife. And as much as he loves Clara, he can’t help a chuckle at the thought of her putting up with him like that. Somehow the words come out, even as they leave a vile taste on his tongue. _No, my wife…she’s…she died_.

                He regrets those words for years, even if they leave him a little lighter.

                Because even though the lie of her death _burns_ , he finally acknowledged aloud the mark Rose Tyler had left on him.  


End file.
